


No Second Chances (The Still Dreaming Remix)

by Hexiva



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, Remix, Time Travel, X-Men Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7999402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexiva/pseuds/Hexiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventy-year-old Charles Xavier wakes up back in 1963, in bed with Erik Lehnsherr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Past is Another Country

**Author's Note:**

  * For [listerinezero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/listerinezero/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Lucid Dreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/519215) by [listerinezero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/listerinezero/pseuds/listerinezero). 



> I was really happy with my assignment for this challenge. Last time I participated in a remix challenge, I got assigned an author whose work I didn't really feel like I could do much with - I didn't hate her work, but I didn't feel inspired by it either. This time, I couldn't have asked for a better assignment; I hadn't read any of ListerineZero's fics before this, I think, but I really loved Lucid Dreaming and Salem Center Mass. Lucid Dreaming in particular was beautifully written and the kind of fic I am an absolute sucker for. Hope you enjoy this, ListerineZero!

Professor Charles Xavier wakes slowly and comfortably. His cheek is resting on warm flesh, he’s swathed in blankets, and his whole body feels relaxed and free of pain. It’s nice. These brief moments in the morning, before his mind is fully awake enough to experience all the aches and pains of a long life, are a welcome respite. For a few minutes, he almost feels young again.

The aches are just starting to return when it dawns on him that there’s something wrong. It’s been decades since he shared a bed with anyone. So who the hell is in his bed?

He sits bolt upright and glares back at his bed partner.

For a single, appalling second, he thinks he’s in bed with Pietro. But then his senses click into sync with his memories, and he realizes he’s looking at Erik Lehnsherr, age thirty-seven.

Erik’s reaction is almost identical to his own; Charles’ sudden movement startles him awake and he sits up, his eyes wild and darting around as if looking for a threat. “Charles?” he says, after a moment. “What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing in my bed?” Charles asks.

Erik blinks at him. “Sleeping,” he says. “With you. I rather thought that was the arrangement.”

“Excuse me?” Charles says, staring. 

Hurt flashes across Erik’s face, followed by confusion. “Charles, are you feeling all right?”

Charles isn’t feeling all right. Something is wrong. Erik is thirty-seven and lying naked in his bed and acting as if this is perfectly normal. 

Without thinking about it, he gets out of bed. He looks down at himself in shock. He’s _standing._ He stumbles, falls to the ground, and feels the impact when his knees hit the carpet. _He can feel his legs._

“Charles?” Erik leaps out of bed and to his side. “Charles, what’s wrong?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, but gets up, yanks open the door and shouts, _“McCoy! Hank! Help me!”_

“It’s nothing,” Charles says hurriedly. “I’m fine, Erik, I’m fine.”

“You are clearly not fine,” Erik says flatly, returning to his side. “You just fell over and you don’t seem to remember last night.”

“I’m fine,” Charles insists. “I just woke up, that’s all. Erik, please. You’re overreacting.”

“Charles, don’t - ”

He’s interrupted by the sudden appearance of a wild-eyed Hank McCoy. “Erik? What’s wrong? What happened?” he says, hovering at the door.

That’s the moment it really hits Charles that this is real. He stares at Hank, with his skinny pink face and his big glasses and his floppy brown hair. God, he can barely remember when Hank looked like that. It’s been over fifty years since his transformation, at least thirty since the serum. 

“I don’t know,” Erik says, still focused on Charles. “He just - he woke up, and he was disoriented. And then he got up and fell right over. I think he’s had some sort of - ” He cuts himself off, and Charles realizes Erik is afraid for him.

“I’m fine, really, Erik,” Charles says, in his most authoritative voice. “You’re making something out of nothing. I just woke up from a rather persistent dream and it took me a moment to put my thoughts together. That’s all.”

“Uh,” Hank says, looking nervously between Erik and Charles. “Well, maybe I can give you a routine check-up anyway? After,” he adds hurriedly, “You’ve gotten dressed.”

It’s then that it dawns on Charles what kind of picture he and Erik must make. They’re both stark naked, alone together in Charles’ room first thing in the morning. It must be blindingly obvious, even to Hank, what they’ve been doing.

For the first time in decades, Charles blushes bright red.

As if to compound his embarrassment, Raven comes up behind Hank, in her blue form, dressed in a white bathrobe. Moira follows shortly behind her.

“Hank?” Raven says. “Erik? I . . . heard you call for help . . .” She is staring fixedly at Hank, determined not to let her eyes stray in Erik or Charles’ direction.

Oh, God. This is not how Charles wanted to come out to all of his closest friends. In fact, if given the choice, he would have happily stayed in the closet until he died. He’s a secretive man by nature, and he hates to be seen as weak. Hates to reveal anything that would make others think less of him.

He can’t hide being disabled, and he can’t hide being a mutant. Not anymore. But this, this he’d always managed to keep secret. And here they all are, staring at him. Moira, Hank, Raven . . . it’s like one of his nightmares come to life.

He switches automatically into damage control mode. “Erik panicked, that’s all,” he says. “I suppose he’s not used to seeing me first thing in the morning, before I’ve had my coffee.” He gives them a wry little smile at that.

“Erik’s never struck me as the panicky type,” Moira says. She’s looking over both of them with faint puzzlement and concealed curiosity. _Guess I’m not the only one he’s been hitting on,_ she thinks to herself. _Unless he was just trying to cover this up. He wouldn’t be the first guy to do that. Maybe now he’ll leave me alone. But I hope he’s okay. He’s not a bad guy, he just can’t take a hint._

Charles quickly blocks Moira’s thoughts out. He doesn’t need to remember all of the ways he’d embarrassed himself in front of her when he was young. He already feels humiliated enough.

_You would be ‘panicky’ too,_ he sends to Moira, Hank, and Raven, so that Erik can’t hear him. _If you had lost everyone you loved in Nazi Germany. Please, let it go._

He gets up, grabs a sheet to cover himself with, and leans against the bed. “See? There’s nothing wrong with me, body or mind. I just had a bad dream. Hank, if you want to give me a checkup, just to be sure, I’m fine with that. But right now, I want to get dressed and have a cup of coffee. So, if you’re all sure I’m not going to keel over suddenly, I’d like you to leave my room.”

He can tell that they’re still worried, but Raven and Moira turn to leave, and Hank steps back and shuts the door behind him. Leaving Charles alone with Erik.

Erik turns to face Charles. “What was that all about, Charles? And don’t give me that ‘I’m fine.’ I saw you. You didn’t - it almost seemed as if you didn’t recognize me for a moment.”

Erik’s instincts are better than he knows. He won’t be mollified by casual dismissals.

Charles sighs and slides back onto the bed, sitting against the headboard. “I had a dream. About my - my stepfather.” The catch in his throat isn’t pure artifice; Charles knows how to use real emotion to make a point. But the truth is it’s easy to talk about, now. Partly that’s because he remembers telling Erik about his past, decades after this, but mostly it’s because he has an ulterior motive. Charles has always found it easiest to tell the truth when he’s lying. “He used to . . . the first time I read someone else’s thoughts, by accident, was when he was beating my stepbrother in the room next door. And I could feel his, could feel Cain’s pain and misery, like it was my own.” He goes silent for a moment. “He’s been dead for years . . . but I still dream about him.”

“I . . . didn’t know,” Erik says.

“You know what that’s like, don’t you?” Charles fixes Erik’s gaze with his own. “When you wake up and you think, you suddenly think you’re in the past. Because you’ve gotten so used to being in danger, that you can’t believe you’re safe now. And the present seems like it can’t possibly be real.”

Erik swallows. “Yes,” he says. “I do.” After a moment, he adds, “I’m sorry I overreacted. I - thought you were having a stroke, really. I didn’t think before I called for Hank.”

“It’s all right. We couldn’t keep it a secret forever, after all.” Charles reaches out and puts a hand on Erik’s shoulder, giving him an encouraging smile. “So why don’t we go get washed up and go down for breakfast? You can have first go at the shower.”

Once he’s sent Erik away, Charles collapses back against the headboard in relief. Now that he’s finally alone, he can try to figure out what the hell is happening.

He goes through the possibilities one by one. Could he and the people around him have been de-aged by some unknown force? No, because his room has also been restored to its pre-Cuba state - no bars to lift himself into and out of his wheelchair, no shortened shelves so that he can reach them. Could this be an illusion created by a psychic? Possible, but unlikely; he’s never encountered a psychic powerful enough to do this to _him._ Could this be a dream or a hallucination? He’s had both, but never one this complete or this coherent. 

The only logical explanation seems to be that he’s back in time. 

He catches his breath sharply, awed by the power he has in his hands right now. He knows the future. He could change it. He could do _anything._

Of course, that’s always been the problem, hasn’t it?

Charles grew up with an unimaginable degree of power and privilege. As a child, everything was always too easy for him. Brilliant, handsome, athletic . . . and totally alone. His mother ignored him, his stepfather abused him, and all of the other kids avoided him. The intimate knowledge he had of others’ minds somehow never translated into any actual ability to relate to other people. There was no one he could turn to for guidance. No one to tell him what was right and wrong, and nothing to stop him from doing whatever he pleased.

He quickly discovered that a world without rules was a world without purpose. What was the point, if there was nothing to strive for? From then on, he resolved to always obey the rules given to him by his parents and teachers. He didn’t have to follow them, and that was why he did. 

And now, once again, he finds limitless power in his hands. He could change the world. He could stop the Vietnam War before it started, save Martin Luther King, stop JFK’s assassination. 

But would that be the right thing to do? Was it right for one man to have that kind of power over the future of the world? Or did he only have the right to his own future?

In his heart, he knows the truth.

But he can still change the course of his own life. Surely that can’t be wrong. And there are so many mistakes he’d made. He could . . . god, he could save Erik.

He sits bolt upright in bed. He can save Erik. 

As if summoned by the thought, thirty-seven year old Erik emerges from the bathroom, a towel around his waist. “Your turn,” he says. “But be quick. We have work to do, my friend.” There’s a grim note in his voice.

“Work?” Charles says absently, his mind still whirring with the possibilities.

“Yes, stopping World War 3, Charles, or had you forgotten? There’s no time to waste.”

World war . . . Charles suddenly realizes what Erik’s talking about. “Do you mean . . . ?”

Erik looks at him as if he’s doubting either Charles’ wits or his sanity. “Yes, Charles. Cuba.”


	2. Fall & Rise

“You’re sure you remember the plan?” Erik asks for the tenth time. Charles can’t remember whether he was this nervous the first time around, or whether Charles’ apparent ‘memory problems’ are putting him on edge, but Erik is hovering next to Charles protectively. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Charles snaps. He’s on edge too - this is his only chance to change things, and he knows he has to do everything right.

He watches as the warships slide into view far below them, with a sense of dread growing in his stomach. It’s exactly as he remembers it - the worst day of his life. Part of him wants to cut and run - let Erik deal with his personal nightmares alone, and save himself instead. But he refuses. He will see this through to the end.

“Crew of the Aral Sea are all dead. Shaw's been there,” he says, feeling out the minds below him. 

“He's still here,” Erik says grimly. “Somewhere.” He’s completely focused on Shaw now, not a thought to spare for Charles.

“He’s in that sub,” Charles says. “In a shielded room, where I can’t reach him. The material is fragile, breakable - Banshee, you can shatter it with your voice.”

“But how do I get in there?” Sean asks.

“Erik?” Charles turns to his friend, his heart clenching in dread. “You have to lift the sub.”

Uncertainty flashes across Erik’s face. “I - I don’t know if I can - ”

“I do,” Charles says firmly, meeting his eyes. “I know you can. And I will be with you every step of the way.” He puts his fingers to his temple and reaches out to touch Erik’s mind.

He watches as Erik lifts the sub and sends it crashing down onto the beach. After everything he’s seen Erik do, this seems like nothing. “Banshee, get in there,” he says immediately, once the sub has stopped moving. “Erik, you stay with me and help me monitor the situation.”

“I’m going with him,” Erik says. 

“No,” Charles states. “You are not. You’re going to stay with me.” He squares his shoulders and faces Erik, challenging him.

Erik meets his gaze. “I don’t take orders from you, Charles. I will not stand by and let Sean risk his life fighting my battles.”

Charles’ heart starts pounding. “I could make you,” he says.

Erik’s shoulders stiffen. “You could,” he replies. “You could. But you’re the one who told me we have it in us to be the better men. Do you?”

They stare at each other silently for a very long moment, before Charles’ shoulders slump. “Killing Shaw will set you on a path you will not be able to change,” he warns.

The look Erik gives him is full of sympathy and regret. “My friend,” he says, “Do you really think I haven’t killed men like Shaw before?”

It’s true, Charles thinks as he watches Erik turn to go. He remembers the things he saw in Erik’s mind when he first met him. Those human men at the bar, the Nazis, the way Erik had tormented them before he killed them - like a cat playing with a mouse. This is what Erik is. Killing Shaw is no different. One could even say it’s more justifiable; after all, Erik is doing this to avert a global catastrophe. 

_Is this when I lost you?_ he asks the Erik who exists in his memories. _Did I ever have you in the first place?_

Was he just lying to himself to think that there was good in Erik still? That he and Erik could ever have worked together?

The rest of the battle plays out like a bad dream, where Charles can see everything with perfect clarity and has no power to change it.

He holds Shaw’s mind in a steely grip and watches through Shaw’s eyes as Erik puts the helmet on for the first time. 

“If you're in there, I'd like you to know that I agree with every word you said,” Erik says. “We are the future. But unfortunately, you killed my mother.” He lifts up the coin. “This is what we're going to do. I'm going to count to three. And I'm going to move the coin.”

Charles gives up. With Shaw’s mouth, he says, “You win, Erik. Do what you will.” And Shaw crumples like a puppet with his strings cut, unconscious. 

Charles turns his attention away. Let Erik kill the Nazi; Charles will not be forced to pay witness to it.

He watches helplessly as Erik floats out over the beach, carrying Shaw’s body. 

“Today our fighting stops! Take off your blinders, brothers and sisters. The real enemy is out there. I feel their guns moving in the water. Their metal, targeting us. Americans, Soviets, humans. United in their fear of the unknown. The Neanderthal is running scared, my fellow mutants!” His eyes find Charles. “Go ahead, Charles. Tell me I'm wrong.”

Charles remembers this. He remembers telling Erik ‘They’re just following orders!’ like a fool, playing right into Erik’s narrative. _This,_ he thinks, hope rising suddenly in his heart, _is where I went wrong._ “They were played, Erik,” he says, meeting Erik’s gaze. “Shaw manipulated them. They don’t deserve to die. If you can stomach their deaths on your conscience - what about their families? Could you look a child in the eye and tell her why her father had to die? These men aren’t Shaw. These men aren’t the Nazis. Give them a chance, Erik. Please. If not for them - then for me.” 

Erik looks back at him. “I’m sorry, Charles,” he says softly. And then he lets the missiles go.

Charles’ heart plummets. He runs at Erik and tackles him bodily, trying to get the helmet off - all thoughts of ethics gone in the frenzy of _I have to stop him._

He had forgotten how brutal this fight was. He’s still fighting when Erik pins him to the ground, and Erik hits him in the face, once, twice, Charles’ skull ringing with the impact. 

Erik starts to turn the missiles back on the humans and Charles tries to struggle to his feet, his heart pounding. “Erik - please, god, no, Erik, don’t do this,” he begs, incoherently, through bruised lips. “Erik - stop!”

But his pleas fall on deaf ears, and as he sees Moira approach he panics. Everything is falling apart and falling out of his control. He staggers to his feet, whether to stop Moira or to run away, he doesn’t know, and there’s a _crack_ \- 

The bullet feels like a hot poker stabbed through his back, and he screams, again, just like he did last time, and it’s all for nothing. It’s all been for nothing. He couldn’t save Erik and he couldn’t save himself.

“Us turning on each other. It's what they want. I tried to warn you, Charles. I want you by my side. We're brothers, you and I. All of us, together. Protecting each other. We want the same thing.”

Charles hates himself for sobbing as he looks up into Erik’s eyes. _I miss you,_ he thinks. _I wanted this to be different._ He reaches out and grabs Erik by the arm, holding him tightly. “Don’t go,” he begs. “Please.” He has a moment of clarity, and adds, “G - get me to a hospital. Get Azazel - bring us to a hospital, please, stay with me.”

Erik whips around and drags Azazel to him by his belt. “Azazel,” he orders. “Take us to a hospital, an American one. All of us.”

Charles whimpers in pain as something moves him slightly, and he realizes that metal from the crashed sub is curling around him, forming something halfway between a cast and a stretcher. Without a word, the rest of the team gather around him, holding onto the metal cast or to each other. 

Charles feels a swell of warmth in his heart, looking up at all of those familiar faces. “Thank you,” he manages, as his vision goes black. “Thank you, all of you.”


	3. The Beginning

It’s several days before the haze of pain and medication fades enough for him to be coherent again. The first time this happened, he’d spent most of his time watching TV. This time, he spends most of it talking to Erik, Raven, and Moira, soaking up their company like a cat sunning itself in the window. It doesn’t make for particularly coherent conversation, of course, but they all put up with his ramblings. He may have slipped the fact that he’s from the future at some point in there, but he’s pretty sure they just put it down to the drugs.

“I want you to know,” Raven says one day, “That I don’t . . . ahh . . .” She blushes. “I don’t, uh, mind about Erik. That you and him are . . .” She waves a hand. “Together. Just, you know, maybe keep the door shut next time ‘til you’ve got your clothes on, okay?”

Charles laughs. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“I’m actually kinda . . . glad.” Raven averts her eyes shyly. “I mean . . . I think I’m like that too. I didn’t want to tell you I liked girls, because the mutant thing already worried you so much and I . . . just didn’t want to give you anything else to worry about.”

“It’s all right.” Charles gives her a smile. This is old news to him; in his world, she has a wife and two children. “I suppose we had more in common than we knew.”

“We did.” Raven smiles back and, in his slightly hazy state, Charles doesn’t notice that her smile is as wistful and regretful as his.

“Are you ready?” Erik says. Charles looks up to find Erik standing at the door to his hospital bed.

“Almost,” Raven says, hesitantly. “Charles, I - I - ” She takes a deep breath. “I’m leaving with Erik.”

Charles’ blood runs cold. His mouth opens, but for a moment he can’t form words. _I thought I changed things. I thought because you didn’t leave me on the beach that -_ “You’re,” he manages, “You’re leaving? Where? . . . Why?” _What did I do wrong?_

“Because someone has to do something,” Raven says, her face hardening. “Charles, I know you think things are just going to - get better - ” She breaks off. “No. I didn’t want to leave on bad terms with you. I don’t want to fight.”

“No,” Charles says. “No, this can’t be right - ”

“The world we live in is a dangerous place for mutants, and it’s only getting more dangerous every day,” Erik says. “Someone needs to do something, Charles, and that someone is me. I will fight for our people - so that you don’t have to.” He looks to Raven, and Raven reaches out to take his hand.

“Don’t try to follow us,” Raven says. “I know you’ve always wanted to protect me, but this is something I have to do.”

“And,” Erik says, his eyes glittering dangerously, “Don’t try to stop us.”

“Erik - Raven - ” Charles stammers out. “Please - ”

“Goodbye, Charles,” Raven says, softly.

And the two of them turn and leave, walking out of the hospital room and out of Charles’ life.

It’s only once he’s sure they’re out of hearing range that he starts crying, in a drugged haze of pain and misery and helplessness. All of this, reliving all of this for nothing. Is his failure to save Erik set in stone? Where did he go wrong? He was so sure, for a moment there, that he had finally managed to change the past.

And instead, here he is again, broken and alone.

His vision blurs with tears, and the hospital room around him starts to go dark as he cries. There’s a distant roaring in his ears. The pain in his back starts to fade out as he falls unconscious.

* * *

 

When he wakes up, he’s in the dark. He reaches out for the table next to his hospital bed, and his fingers meet empty space. He gropes for some recognizable tactile landmark and finds nothing. He’s in a totally unfamiliar room.

He panics and sits up, still feeling around himself wildly, and finally hits something. It falls to the ground with a loud clatter, startling him, but he grabs hold of the table underneath it, grounding himself. Why can’t he see? he thinks. And where the hell is he?

As if in answer to his questions, he hears the sound of footsteps on metal echoing down a corridor, and then a door opens and floods the room with light.

Charles shields his eyes with one hand. “What is this?” he demands. “Where am I?”

The figure silhouetted in the door chuckles, and reaches over to flick a lightswitch.

 

Charles finds himself sitting in bed in a small room, the walls and floor made of metal. The table he’s still gripping is also made of metal, and he can see the lamp he knocked over lying on the floor, its light reflecting off of it. And in the doorway is -

“Welcome back, Charles,” Erik says.

This isn’t the Erik of 1963. This is his Erik, his face softened and creased with age, his hair silver, and his eyes full of cold amusement.

“What’s going on?” Charles demands. “Why have you brought me here?”

Erik chuckles again. “You brought yourself here, old friend. You’ve been staying with me for about a week. You came to me, seemingly afflicted with amnesia, looking for answers. I had none for you, but I welcomed you to stay with the Brotherhood for as long as you needed to.” He takes a few steps closer, slight concern passing across his face. “Are you feeling well? Have you remembered our past together?”

“Yes,” Charles snaps. Then he sighs and lies back against the pillows, shutting his eyes for a moment. “Yes, I have,” he says softly.

Erik smiles, visibly relieved. “Then welcome back indeed, my friend.” He waves a hand casually, forming a chair out of the solid metal ground, and sits down next to Charles’ bed.

“I was in the past,” Charles says. “And I couldn’t change anything.”

Erik accepts this without question. “When?”

“1963. Cuba. I woke up in bed, in your arms.”

Erik catches his breath. “That was . . . a long time ago.”

“I know.” Charles shuts his eyes. “I tried to change things. Tried to stop you and Raven from leaving. Tried to save you.”

Erik sighs heavily. “Oh, my friend. You never did understand that I do not need salvation.” His voice is soft.

“What did I do wrong?” Charles looks up at Erik, beseeching. “How did I fail you?”

Erik’s eyes go soft. “You did not fail me, old friend. My failures are my own, and they are beyond your control.”

Charles exhales. “I thought that somehow,” he confesses, “if I could change the past, I wouldn’t lose you.”

Erik reaches out and gently cups Charles’s face in one hand. “I’m right here. You didn’t lose me.”

A wave of sorrow washes over Charles. “We’ve been fighting for decades now.”

“I know.” Erik looks down for a moment, regretful. “Charles . . . is it really too late for us?”

“I couldn’t change the past,” Charles says.

“But the future is yet ours.” Erik leans in, and presses his lips against Charles’ for the first time in forty years. “Work with me. Help me try to find a compromise . . . or at least a truce. You of all people should know that there’s always hope.”

Charles stares into his eyes. After all these years, he can barely bring himself to hope for more. But Erik is right here, warm and solid and looking at him with those soft blue eyes. “I . . . If this is a trick, Erik, then so help me God . . .”

“Never,” Erik says firmly, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

Charles takes a deep breath. “I have responsibilities,” he warns Erik. “I can’t devote my time to you the way I once did.”

Erik smiles. “So do I. Such is the price of growing old.”

“But . . .” Charles’ hand tightens around Erik’s. “If you will try . . . then how can I do any less?”

“Let me bring you hope, old friend,” Erik says.

And Charles leans in and kisses him.


End file.
